Monster
by Zana Banana
Summary: And he was selfish, oh so selfish, but he held her anyway.


**Monster**

He was selfish, so selfish, and he knew it.

He awoke with a start, the sheets rustling beside him. Realizing the noise was merely a result of his wife climbing out of bed—quietly as she could, for she was always considerate of him and would feel horrible if she knew she'd disturbed his slumber—he relaxed immediately.

He continued to observe her as she made her way across the floor, tiptoeing in her futile attempt to pass by unnoticed. A small grin tweaked the corners of his lips, so small it was barely visible. She turned, casting a concerned glance over her shoulder as she made her way toward the bedroom door, and his eyes snapped shut.

What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

Seemingly satisfied, she faced the door and, turning the knob ever so slowly as to not produce a creak, eased it open. He took one last look at her as she slinked through the small space she'd created between the frame and the door, his grin slightly broader.

He should have told her. He should have warned her of the dangers to come, prepared her, forced her onto someone else—anything to get her away, out of reach.

Too late now. The damage was done, and there was no taking it back.

And _damn_, did it feel good. Wrong, so wrong, but _good_.

At long last, he was able to hold her, be held by her. They were together now.

No more hiding, no more mind games; none of it mattered anymore, not now that he had grasped the shimmer of happiness once so elusive in his life, a ray of sunlight pooling against the side of the pillow her head should have rested on too many nights before.

He could hear her. He always did, because, try as she might, the girl simply couldn't put her mind to keeping quiet. Similar nights would occur every once in a while, more seldom now that they were growing older, and if the movement of the sheets didn't wake him, her voice filtering through the walls would.

But he didn't mind, not at all, because he knew what would happen next. It was like clockwork, so precise he could count the seconds.

One.

Muffled footsteps hurried down the hall, each thud louder than its predecessor.

Two.

The bedroom door flew wide open, the knob crashing, unchecked, into the adjacent wall.

Three.

A sharp intake of breath was sucked through teeth, followed by frantic reprimands spilling over a disbelieving tongue.

Four.

The footsteps, louder, much closer, threw themselves into a quicker pace.

Five.

Suddenly, arms—little arms, fragile arms, innocent arms—were thrust around his neck, and the weight of eagerness and disregard pressed down on him.

"Ai_-ya_! Sakura, don't—!"

He feigned drowsy confusion for a moment, then slid an arm around his daughter's waist as she hugged him. The child looked up and, seeing that he'd stirred, smiled happily.

"Daddy," the little girl said, "Guess what?"

He looked at her, his perfect creation—dark hair, thin and soft like her mother's, pulled back in a sleep-mussed knot; bright brown eyes, wide and animated as she waited for his response.

He offered a tired chuckle. "What?"

"There's a monster in my room again."

"Sakura."

His attention drifted to his wife at the sound of her chastising tone. She stood, her shirt clinging to her skin due to the humidity in the room, obviously exasperated.

"Don't worry, Xiao," he assured her, "I don't mind."

She gave him an apologetic smile, reaching up to sweep her bangs out of her eyes.

She was as beautiful as she'd been when they met. He was secretly thankful that Sakura resembled her mother the most, and had not been cursed with his eyes—such dark, unforgiving eyes.

Fixing his gaze on the young child beside him, he propped himself up on his elbows, causing her to shrink back into a sitting position on the bed. "Are you sure?"

"I saw it," she replied excitedly, "It's purple, and it has wings—" She motioned with her arms. "—and fangs—" She bit down on her lower lip to expose her teeth. "—and a pink spot!" She prodded her chest with a finger.

His expression darkened. "Did it try to hurt you?"

Sakura shook her head.

He let out another gentle laugh, his demeanor softened. "Monsters aren't real, baby."

The little girl grunted in protest.

"You always say that, Daddy," she sighed, "I'm not lying! You have to see it!"

What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

Sakura tugged on his hand stubbornly. "Come on!"

"Guess I have no choice," he remarked playfully, swinging his legs over the edge, "I hope you're joking again, Sakura—if there actually _is_ a monster, I might get scared."

"You won't," she responded proudly, "My daddy's not afraid of _any_thing."

There wasn't a monster in her bedroom. There never was—it wasn't stupid enough to stick around.

He tucked her into bed, as he always did, lying some more to the child who refused to believe she had an overactive imagination. Placing a timid kiss on her forehead, he turned off the light and returned to he and his wife's room.

Too late now. The damage was done, and there was no use in worrying her little head over something she couldn't understand, had no chance of changing.

Clambering beneath the covers once more, he looked over at his wife, his beautiful wife, and grinned.

He could hold her forever. Nothing—no one—could stop him now.

And he was selfish, oh so selfish, but he held her anyway.


End file.
